


Writing on the Walls

by amycooper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycooper/pseuds/amycooper
Summary: A recently turned human Gabriel learns about some of the less than pleasant human side effects of trauma.





	Writing on the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of went back and forth about posting this here after writing it on tumblr. I've been struggling with anxiety and panic attacks lately myself and kind of based Gabriel's experience on my own.

“Well I should have fixed this before I lost all my mojo,” Gabriel said, hands on his hips, as he assessed the bedroom-his bedroom now.  The walls were still covered with his story, one that he didn’t exactly care to go to bed to each night and see first thing in the morning.

“Yeah, well I don’t know why you felt to write this shit all over the walls,” Dean said, carrying in the tv.  He put it on the floor and left.

Sam came in next, carrying the feather comforter.  “Where did you get all this stuff anyway, Gabriel.”

“Oh, you know, places,” Gabriel said, taking the comforter from Sam and plopping it on the bed.

“You know, you don’t have to use this room.  We can always give you another down the hall,” Sam said.

“No we can’t!” Dean yelled from somewhere in the hallway.  “Not after we just carried all his crap in there.”

Gabriel shot a dirty look in the direction of the hallway and debated fighting Dean for the hell of it, but after a beat decided to let it go.  The two were willing to take him in, at least until he got used to being human (human!) and back on his feet when no one else would.  So he could let it go.

“Naw, Samsquatch.  All these rooms are so dull, I thought I’d paint over it with some actual color.”

“We could do that,” Sam said.  Sam looked around for a moment.  The comforter was the last of Gabriel’s things.  Despite Dean’s complaints, there really wasn’t that much, although where his and Dean’s bedroom was full of mostly books, weapons, and other practical items, Gabriel had a luxurious bedding set, a couple entertainment systems, and no shortage of decorations.  Still, it wasn’t so much that after a little work, the room would look overwhelmed, although now everything did look quite messy.  

“We should probably get you some clothes,” Sam said.  That was one thing Gabriel surprisingly did not have, though after a moment’s thought it made sense, before he’d just be able to change outfits with a snap of his fingers.  “Why don’t you straighten up, I’ll make us all some lunch and then we’ll hit the stores.

“Sounds good,” Gabriel said and watched Sam leave.  Then, pointedly ignoring the literal writing on the walls, Gabriel set to work settling into his new digs.  Figuring that at some point he’ll start to feel tired, he started with the bed. 

Halfway though making his bed though, he gasped.  His heard was suddenly pounding in his chest.  He can feel each beat pressing upon him, vibrating strongly in his chest.  And oh God, his chest!  It felt so tight, like he had a five hundred pound weight squeezing him.  

He gasped again and half-sat, half-collapsed against the half-made bed.  As he heaved for air, he could feel every sensation in his body with an almost over-powering sensitivity.  His fingers tingling, his body shaking, the cold sheen of moisture building on his body, light-headed and dizzy.  But most of all, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was it.  He survived so much, for so long and here he was about to die alone in this room.  He gave a hiccuping little cry.  He must have forgotten to fix something in this vessel, some thing vital, something-

“Breath.”

“I can’t.” Gabriel managed.

“You can.  You are.  Like this.” Sam demonstrated, breathing in slowly as his finger counted off to five, held it for three and let out for seven.  “Match my breaths.”

“I’m dying, Sam.” 

“No.  You’re not.  Trust me, you’re not.  The breathing will help.”

Gabriel was surprised to find that he could.  But the utter terror he felt waxed and waned with each breath.  After a couple of breaths Sam asked if it was okay to touch him and when Gabriel nodded yes, Sam took his hand.

“I want you to squeeze my hand, Gabriel, hard as you can for ten seconds, okay?  I’ll count.  One, two, three, harder Gabriel, four, five, so hard your hand shakes, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and release.”

They did that a few more times until the feeling of impending doom dissipated and his heart calmed, leaving Gabriel feeling confused and stupid and spent.

“What are you looking at?” He snapped at Dean, who was leaning in the doorway eating a sandwich and watching the whole thing.  Dean huffed and walked off.

Sam watched Dean leave before turning back to Gabriel.  “He was just concerned.  He was the one that found you and got me.”

Gabriel felt more uncertain about everything than he ever could remember.  And he wanted to be mad at Dean.  Or someone.  He looked around the room avoiding eye contact with Sam.

“Dean and I, we’ve both been through a lot.  Enough that we’ve had more than one panic attack ourselves, just like you did.  The hand thing?  That’s what helped with Dean right after he got out of hell.”

Oh, now Gabriel felt really stupid.  

“You probably feel stupid right now.”

Gabriel shot him a look.  Sam held up his hands.  

“Hey, I only say that because I know Dean did.  And even after helping Dean after he came back, I felt dumb that I couldn’t control it either when I started getting them.  But really, it’s not something you can consciously control. When you’ve been through, well, when you’ve been through the kind of things we’ve been through, sometimes you’re body’s fight or flight instinct’s a bit messed up and triggers for no logical reason.  That’s what a panic attack is, really.”

Gabriel glanced at Sam, then the unmade bed.  “I wasn’t thinking about any of that.  I was just making the bed.”

Sam nodded.  “I was making a hamburger during my first one.  I was alone, like you were.  Dean was doing a supply run and next thing I knew, I felt like I was suffocating.

Gabriel nodded to show he was listening.

“I’m not saying Dean and I have the healthiest coping mechanisms, especially not Dean, but I’ve been talking to a counselor over Skype lately, her name is Mia.  She’s really more of a grief counselor but she’s been able to give me some ideas on how to help with some of our, ah, issues.  She could probably help you too, if you want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, ah…” Gabriel gave an uncomfortable short laugh.  “I think I’m good.” 

Sam gave him a look of deep skepticism but didn’t push it.  “Why don’t you join us in the kitchen.  I promise you, Dean won’t say anything.”

“Really.” Now it was Gabriel’s turn to be the skeptic.

“Really.  He avoids talking about emotions like the plague.  Trust me, he’ll pretend nothing happened,” Sam said.  “But if you ever do want to talk-”

“Yeah, yeah, I can pour my heart to you,” Gabriel said, following Sam out the door.  He paused and turned out the light, and the story of his past disappeared, temporarily, from sight as he went out to join the Winchesters.


End file.
